Waiting for the Paradox
by ShatteringDaybreak
Summary: A collection of SoMa prompts and drabbles. 13: Eight drabbles, all circling around three little words
1. Green Succubus, Red Urchin

**A/N: A collection of all the prompts and drabbles that end up on my tumblr page (fullmetalgrigori). **

**Title Quote: "To say that one waits a lifetime for his soulmate to come around is a paradox. People eventually get sick of waiting, take a chance on someone, and by the art of commitment become soulmates, which takes a lifetime to perfect." ~Criss Jami**

* * *

**Prompt (by notanirishginger): Spoken Word Poetry AU**

**(Disclaimer: the poems I use in this prompt aren't mine. They are, in order of appearance: If I Should Have a Daughter, by Sarah Kay; The Sick Muse, by Charles Baudelaire)**

* * *

She's seen him before, at this cafe. She's seen him, and she's heard him sometimes, but she doesn't think she's ever heard _him_, not really. The poems he reads are beautiful, but she's known they're not his ever since she recognized a snippet of Emily Dickinson (I think i was enchanted). But he carries a black Moleskin with him every night, so he must be writing something. Writing, but not reading.

Not like she does.

The lights are bright tonight, but they no longer bother her like they used to. The warmth is comforting, not stifling, and she doesn't need to squint to see the audience. She recognizes a few people here and there, but it's snow-white hair and red eyes that capture her attention. He's watching her with that apathetic look on his face, and suddenly Maka is filled with dread because he is in her poem, and she is only realizing it now, as she speaks the words aloud.

"And, baby, I'll tell her, don't keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I've done it a million times. You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him."

She meets his gaze as she speaks, and though her heart hammers in her chest, her voice is steady. She has done this hundreds of times; a boy is not going to change that.

But then his lips twitch upwards in a smirk, and her breath stutters.

To anyone else, the break is unnoticeable. But his smirks widens, and Maka spends the rest of her poem avoiding his gaze.

She tries to escape as soon as she leaves the stage, but he's already cornered her. "The boy who lit the fire, huh?" he asks, still smirking. "You know me well."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He crosses his arms, and Maka catches a glimpse of black Moleskin tucked underneath his elbow.

The words are in the air before she gives them permission to leave her mouth. "Read one of yours and I might. Your real ones, I mean."

He stiffens. "What makes you think-"

"Emily Dickinson."

"That could have been one time."

"It's not."

He scowls at her, and she softens because she recognizes the fear from her beginnings. "You heard me. Now I want to hear you. Please."

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, and it's so long that Maka begins to doubt. But then he sighs and shuffles his feet, untucks the Moleskin and climbs the stage.

Maka settles into the seat he'd vacated while he adjusts the microphone. He looks at her when he begins, and though the Moleskin is open on his lap, he doesn't look at it once.

"My impoverished muse, alas! What have you for me this morning?

Your empty eyes are stocked with nocturnal visions,

In your cheek's cold and taciturn reflection,

I see insanity and horror forming.

The green succubus and the red urchin,

Have they poured you fear and love from their urns?

The nightmare of a mutinous fist that despotically turns,

Does it drown you at the bottom of a loch beyond searching?"

He continues, and Maka is entranced. His voice carries his words with a grace that clashes with his rough appearance, yet there is a dark undercurrent that raises goosebumps on her skin.

He finishes abruptly, and there are a few seconds of silence before a polite smattering of bemused snapping breaks out. He nearly flings himself offstage and stalks over to Maka's table, throwing himself into the seat beside her.

"See why I don't read my stuff?" he grumbles.

"No," Maka answers. "I loved it."

He blinks. "Run that by me again?"

"I thought it was excellent. You're a fantastic poet…?" She trails off, because she is just now remembering that she doesn't know his name.

"Soul." He still looks bewildered, and she wonders how long it'll take to convince him that she truly means what she says. "And uh, thanks…?"

"Maka." She holds her hand out and he shakes it, but the gesture seems oddly formal since they've already starred in each other's poetry.

"I do have one comment, though." Maka says suddenly. Soul braces himself for the criticism, but he misses the mischievous spark in Maka's eyes.

"Green succubus, huh?"

He turns bright red. "Aw, shaddup."

_**Posted June 22 2014**_


	2. About Last Night

**A/N: Prompt by fabulousanima: "What's that on your shirt?"**

**Rated T for language**

* * *

He could tell the exact moment she spotted it, and that was when his morning started to go downhill. Although to be honest, it'd been pretty much fucked ever since Black*Star spiked Maka's punch the night before.

It wasn't that he knew this from experience, but he believed a hungover meister wasn't going to be a happy one, so to hopefully head off any unpleasantness, he'd dragged himself out of bed to make her a very large, very black pot of coffee. It wasn't until she stumbled into the room, makeup looking more like bruises and hair ruffled that he fully remembered why giving Maka alcohol was such a bad idea. And why it was an even worse idea to still be wearing his clothes from the night before.

_Please don't ask, please don't ask, please don't-_

"What's that on your shirt?"

_Fuck._

"Nothing," he muttered, turning away to hide the stain near his shirt collar. "Probably just spilled something on it."

Goddammit, even hungover she was stubborn. He could hear her feet padding across the kitchen in uneven steps until they stopped right behind him. "Doesn't look like alcohol," she said dubiously, leaning closer to inspect it.

Her warm breath washed across his throat, and even though she had a truly terrible case of alcohol-laced morning breath, it brought back such a flood of memories from the night before that Soul physically flinched away. Thankfully, Maka was too hungover to notice.

She was _not_ too hungover to miss the other, more damning mark, because that would have been too easy. "What's that on your _neck?_" She sounded suspicious, and Soul began to check the kitchen for any hardbacks she might have left lying around.

"Uh, nothing," he said hurriedly, sidling away.

She squinted and poked at it. The bruise ached at her touch, and Soul hissed in mild discomfort. She took notice, and her eyes widened. "Is that…?" She trailed off and stepped back to meet his gaze.

And while Soul had mastered the art of the poker face, there was still one person who could see right through it, even when hungover. Maka's hand flew to her mouth, eyes darting back and forth between the glaring hickey on his neck and what she finally recognized as the lipstick Liz had coerced her into the night before.

Soul was frozen, unable to do anything but watch the gears in her head crank so loudly that he could almost see the steam pouring from her ears. "I didn't—that wasn't—did I?" she asked, stuttering and blushing and altogether refusing to look him in the eye.

"Apparently you get a little handsy when you're drunk," Soul answered, and _fuck_ he could have worded that a whole lot better. But Maka's face flushed a brilliant red at his words, so maybe it'd been worth it.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

Her face was priceless, and suddenly Soul was tempted to push her a little farther. "I didn't mind," he said, giving her a half-smirk as he turned to lean against the kitchen counter.

Maka was stunned into silence, her mouth opening and closing stupidly as she searched for a rebuttal. It was rare to render his meister be speechless, so Soul took it as a win.

"MAKA CHOP!"

Unless, of course, she happened to have a book nearby (who the hell kept _Anna Karenina_ in the kitchen, anyway?). Then the victory was all hers.

Well, Soul still had a hickey and her lipstick on his shirt, so maybe not _all_.

_**Posted June 22 2014**_


	3. Licensed to Spill

**A/N: Prompt by wingsof-flame: Day out on the boat**

* * *

This had been a very, very bad idea. But when had that ever stopped his meister?

Soul stifled a groan and the urge to beat his head against the steering wheel of the motorboat Maka had roped him into driving. He wasn't sure where the boat had come from (though the name "Happy Hooker" pointed to a certain red-headed Death Scythe), but he'd learned long ago to stop questioning Maka's methods when she wanted something. And when she wanted to spend an afternoon on Lake Tahoe, well, Soul wasn't too surprised when she actually made it happen.

Didn't mean he had to like it, though.

"Soul, we've gotta go more to the left. No, the left!"

"I _am_ going left!"

"Not enough!"

Fucking hell. She didn't even know how to work a boat, and she was _still_ backseat driving.

(Oh, alright, he didn't know how to drive a boat either, but that wasn't the point.)

"Watch out for that buoy!"

"I see the buoy," Soul muttered through gritted teeth. If she made one more comment…

"Careful of the wake. Remember, we've gotta return the boat later tonight."

"For fuck's sake Maka, if you're gonna harass me this much, _you_ drive the fucking thing!"

She blinked at him. "But I don't have a boating license."

"So? You think I do?"

"No, but you drive a motorcycle."

The sun must have been affecting her. "Newsflash, bookworm, a motorcycle is not a boat."

She pinked and shot him a glare. "I know that. I just meant you've got driving experience is all."

"So can we agree that since I'm more experienced-"

"Soul."

"-No, let me finish-"

"Soul!"

"-goddammit, Maka, can't you let me get two words out-"

"SOUL!"

"What?!"

"The buoy!"

Soul turned his head just in time to see a very large, very orange buoy speeding right for them. He swore colorfully and yanked on the steering wheel, sending them careening to the right. He held on for dear life, white-knuckling the steering wheel like his life depended on it. It was a close call, and later Soul would swear that he'd scraped paint flakes off the damn thing, but a full-on collision was averted in the end.

His heart thudded in his throat as he peeled his fingers from the wheel. "See?" he said shakily. "I got it."

Maka was silent in what he assumed was her life flashing before her eyes. He snorted. "'S'what you get for doubting me. I can handle this thing no problem. alright?"

She still didn't answer, and while Soul desperately wanted to believe that she'd just taken the hint and shut up, he also knew that that would never happen. So he turned to check on her, only to see a conspicuously empty seat. And a flailing meister treading water about a hundred feet behind the boat.

"_SOUL!_"

Fuck.

_**Posted June 22 2014**_


	4. That's Not a Gopher Hole

**A/N: Prompt by sandmancircus: Gnome AU**

**(Jesus Christ this is probably the crackiest thing I have ever written)**

* * *

The first time Maka saw the creature, she thought she must have fallen asleep while reading Alice in Wonderland. might have continued to believe she was dreaming had it not been for the excruciating pain in her ankle, courtesy of her inattention combined with a rather unfortunately placed gopher hole.

She hissed in pain and tried to shift to ease the throbbing, but her frock was tangled between her legs and restricted her movement. A scream of frustration ripped from her throat, scaring a family of crows from a nearby tree.

This was just like her, she thought. She'd only wanted to escape the disgustingly soppy gazes her father kept shooting the newest maid, and the forest bordering their estate had seemed the best place to do just that. Now she was caught with a twisted ankle in a gopher hole, and she was unlikely to be found for quite some time.

"You've got quite the penchant for trouble, don't you?" The voice was rough and unmistakably masculine.

Maka stiffened, then twisted her head this way and that as she tried to catch a glimpse of its owner. "Hello? Who's there?"

"Over here." The voice came from behind a tree not three feet from the hole she was stuck in, though Maka couldn't see anyone there.

"Uh…" she said inelegantly, craning her neck.

The voice sighed irritably. "Down here."

Maka's eyes fell to the root base of the tree just as a small figure stepped out from behind it. And that was when Maka thought herself to be dreaming.

Because small wasn't quite the word to describe the creature in front of her. Maka was small. This thing was absolutely miniature. She doubted it would stand any taller than three full handspans.

But aside from the diminutive stature, the creature looked like a human man—for the most part. Spiky white hair stuck up in tufts while bright red eyes surveyed her with a look of total disdain. He spoke suddenly, and his deep voice contrasted so completely with his size that if Maka hadn't been so taken aback, she might have laughed.

"Shut your mouth, you'll catch flies," he said in a bored tone. "Now do you want me to help you or not?"

Maka blinked stupidly. "I don't even know what you are. Or if you're real."

The creature bristled. "I have a name, you know. It's Soul. And of course I'm real." He hopped off the root and approached her, rolling his eyes as she flinched away. "I'm not going to hurt you. Be pretty hard to, considering you're five times my size."

"I am stuck in a gopher hole," Maka pointed out, "so you have the advantage right now."

Soul looked thoroughly unimpressed. "You caught me," he said as he bent to examine her ankle. "I put that hole there to capture underdeveloped girls like you. Saw right through my plan, you did."

Maka flushed and huffed angrily, but couldn't find a single thing to say.

"'Sides, it's not a gopher hole."

"What is it, then?"

"My front door. And your fat ankle is wedged in it." He prodded her foot suddenly with one small finger.

Pain shot through Maka's ankle and she yelped in pain. "Watch it!" she cried. He ignored her and continued to poke at her.

"Not broken. Just twisted."

"Still stuck in the hole," Maka hissed.

"I'm getting there." Soul huffed impatiently and placed his hands on either side of her ankle bone. Before Maka could ask what he was doing, a numbing sensation bled through her skin and wrapped her joint in warmth. There was the strangest sensation of sinews stretching and compressing, then there was a snap like an elastic band. Maka jerked back, bracing for pain, but none came.

She reached forward and probed the skin around her ankle, but felt nothing aside from a faint throbbing. "What…how did you…"

"This forest holds more than you'd think," Soul answered cryptically, stepping back. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why heal my ankle?"

Soul looked at her like she was stupid. "Did you miss the part where your foot was in my front door?"

"Didn't have to heal it, though."

A hint of a smile crossed his face. "You're clever, I'll give you that. Be more careful from now on." He turned to disappear behind the tree again.

"Wait! You never told me what you were! Or why you healed me!"

Soul looked at her over his shoulder. "You're so smart; figure it out for yourself." He bared his teeth at her in a wide grin, revealing razor sharp teeth, before vanishing into the tree roots.

Maka blinked, rubbed her eyes, and squinted at the tree. Nothing. Perhaps she'd dreamed the whole thing? She pushed herself to her feet, and her ankle gave a low throb. So, not a dream then.

It took less than three minutes for a burning curiosity to worm its way into her brain, and it took ten more for her to run back to the massive library tucked away in the back corner of the estate. Unfortunately, due to the sheer size and volume of books, it took quite a lot longer for her to find the information she wanted.

Two hours after meeting the strange creature in the woods, Maka found the book that contained her answer. Her eyes scanned the page eagerly, latching onto the sentence she wanted.

Her brows drew together as she read, and her face began to contort into a fierce scowl. By the time she reached the end, her face was bright red and she was practically having kittens.

Maka screamed in anger and threw the book as hard as she could. Her stomping footsteps echoed through the room as the hardback leather cover fell open to the page she'd been reading. A detailed color illustration of the creature she'd met decorated most of the page, leaving little room for the caption that had so incensed Maka.

_Gnomes are magical creatures that most frequently live in the root systems of trees. They are mostly reclusive creatures, tending to shy away from others of their kind. They are known, however, to watch after certain humans, particularly…_

_…prudish women._

* * *

**(That last part is true, at least in Alexander Pope's "The Rape of the Lock.") **

_**Posted June 23 2014**_


	5. A Bit of a (Handsy) Trainwreck

**A/N: Prompt by exari: "You're sort of a trainwreck."**

**A prequel to "What's that on your shirt?"**

* * *

Soul was going to fucking murder Black*Star. Well, he would if he ever made it through the night intact.

Yeah, he'd thought about killing the stupid blue-haired monkey before. Rarely a day went by when Soul _didn't_ want to throttle his friend at least once. But _this_. No, this really took the cake.

Black*Star had given Maka liquor. A fuckton of liquor. And Soul was pretty sure this was her first time drinking. Ever.

Now, Soul had spent enough time with Black*Star that he knew how to take care of a very drunk person. In fact, he liked to believe that he was good at it. But Black*Star was not (a) his meister, (b) someone he was ridiculously attracted to, or—maybe most importantly—(c) a very affectionate drunk.

Maka was all three. And she was pawing at him like there was no tomorrow.

"Ah, c'mon, Maka, don't—fuck—calm down." Soul's hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist as he tried to pin her wandering hands.

"Sooouuul," she pouted, bottom lip sticking out in a manner that was way too enticing to be healthy. "Leggo."

"Nooo, not gonna happen," Soul said quickly, trying to ignore the part of his brain that asked what the harm in letting her do what she wished would be. Instead, he tightened his grip on her hands and led her down the street towards their apartment. It was lucky for him that Black*Star lived within walking distance—perhaps the only lucky thing to come of the night. Soul shuddered to imagine what trying to drive Maka home would be like (and not all the shudders were due to dread).

"Why not?" She asked, suddenly sounding much more sober.

"Cos you're drunk," Soul snorted.

"So?"

Soul nearly stumbled, but righted himself before he could lose his grip and she could escape. "So?" he spluttered. "You're drunk, Maka! You're drunk and you're sort of a train wreck and you don't know what you're doing."

"Oh." Her brow furrowed. She looked like she was trying to answer of one Stein's impossible extra credit questions. "But I do know what I'm doing."

Soul ignored the way his heart flipped. "Sure you do," he muttered, and a wave of relief crashed over him as their apartment came into view.

_Not much longer now. Just get her to her room so she can crash, and this'll be all over._

He hated how depressed that made him.

Maka was quiet as he led her up the steps, and Soul thanked his lucky stars that she was still able to walk right. Carrying a handsy meister up the stairs was not something he wanted to try.

(Aw, who was he kidding? Of course he wanted to fucking try.)

But then came the front door. The front door which was locked and would require actual hands to open. Soul doubted his ability to hold Maka still with one hand, but there weren't any other options he could see.

Gingerly, he pried one of his hands from hers and locked her wrists together in the other. Maka was quiet as he dug around in his pocket for the key. Low alarm bells went off in his head at her stillness, but he was too preoccupied with getting the door open to listen to them.

The key finally turned and the door swung open to a dark apartment. Soul stuffed the key back into his pocket as he dragged Maka in behind him, who was still oddly submissive. He'd barely managed to flip the lights on when a pair of hands slammed the door shut and threw him against it.

_When did she…?_ That was about as far as he got before his brain short-circuited. Because her hands were running through his hair and her lips were on his neck and holy fucking shit.

The yelp she drew from his throat was definitely the uncoolest thing he'd ever uttered, but it was hard to really care about those kinds of things when Maka was doing her damnedest to give him a hickey the size of Montana. He couldn't really bring himself to care much about anything, actually, and that both scared him and turned him on.

And there was a reason he should care, right? At least, about something. Something about why this was wrong…

Shit. His eyes widened and his hands flew up to push Maka away. She looked at him under half-lidded eyes, and fuck if that didn't make it that much harder to keep her away. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"You're drunk," Soul said stupidly.

Maka giggled. "Yeah. Think I am."

"So you can't do this. Not now." And if she remembered those two words tomorrow morning, he was fucked (and not in the good way).

Surprisingly, she didn't protest. "Hmm. Okay." She smiled at him and patted his cheek. "You're a good person, y'know Soul?" With that, she turned and wobbled her way back to her room, and Soul was left wishing that he wasn't so goddamn good.

He sighed gustily and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He'd narrowly avoided a crisis of epic proportions, so why was he left with the feeling that the worst was yet to come? It was unlikely that she'd remember anything tomorrow morning, but he'd have to keep an eye on her just to make sure. Not to mention she'd have one mother of a hangover.

Soul groaned and stumbled towards his own room and the promised land of his bed. He barely managed to toe off his shoes before falling face-first into the sheets and falling asleep instantly.

If he'd looked in the mirror, he'd have noticed the bright red lipstick stain hovering near the edge of his shirt collar. But he didn't. That was a problem for tomorrow.

_**Posted 25 June 2014**_


	6. His Hips Don't Lie

**Prompt by both oddlittlesya (aka howlingmoonrise) and professor-maka: Dance**

**"Sing" by Ed Sheeran came on Pandora when I was writing the actual dancing part. So I sort of picture them dancing to that.**

* * *

Maka hadn't been expecting a lot of talent from this candidate, but she'd been hoping that he could avoid treading on her toes for at least the first two minutes.

He hadn't.

Maka winced again and decided she'd had enough. Hiro looked horrified as she pried her hand from his and stepped back. "I'm sorry!" he stammered. "My last partner was shorter, so I'm always trying to take bigger steps, but that doesn't really work here because you've got long legs and your feet are bigger-"

Maka cut him off before he could insult her feet any more. "It's fine, we're just not compatible partners. Don't worry about it."

Hiro looked relieved, but Maka must have still looked irritated, because he didn't stick around to chat. As Maka shut off the music, the pattering of his retreating footsteps echoed in the enclosed dance studio. Maka's oen weary ones followed after as she retrieved a bottle of water from her bag and took a long gulp. She leaned against the wall of mirrors and slid down to sit on the floor, rubbing her head to ward off an oncoming headache.

She hated auditions, and she hated how she couldn't get out of them. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't dance on her own. A partner was required, and Maka was picky about who she danced with, which made this about ten times harder than it really needed to be.

Maka pulled out her phone and tapped the calender icon. A great swath of colored blocks covered her afternoon, but ended right before the current time. She was out of partners, and she didn't have any alternatives left.

She groaned and let her head fall to her knees. What was she going to do now?

As if in answer to her silent question, the door to the dance studio flew open with a crash. Maka looked up to see a flash of blue, followed by a loud cackle.

_I _really_ don't need this right now…_

"Maka! OI, MAKA!"

She growled. "Black*Star, I am _right here_. Stop yelling." She caught sight of another person standing behind him, a little off to the side. It wasn't someone she recognized, and despite her irritation with Black*Star, she found her curiosity piqued.

Black*Star barreled on with all the grace of a stampeding horse. "You found a partner yet? No, right? Well, your god's found one for ya!"

Maka tried (and failed) not to be insulted by his insinuation. "What are you talking about?"

"Soul!" Black*Star exclaimed, gesturing wildly to the person behind him. "He's another one of my disciples, and since he's a dancer like you—still kinda weird, dude—I figured you could try him out! Aren't I a benevolent god?"

"You're something, alright," Maka muttered.

The stranger (Soul) let out a low chuckle as he stepped forward, and Maka finally got her first good look at him.

He was taller than Black*Star was, but he stood with a slouch, hands in his pockets. His hair was an odd shade of white, held back by a simple black headband. Red eyes glittered as he scanned her up and down, seeming to take the same inventory she was. He grinned at her then (or perhaps smirked was a better word), revealing teeth that looked sharper than anything else she'd ever seen.

Any other girl might have cringed away at that point, but Maka was a dancer, And if Black*Star was going to shove this boy at her as a partner, then she was going to assess him like one.

His body was lean but well-muscled, and though he was slouching, Maka could read the years of training wound into his frame. You couldn't have any skill as a dancer and _not_ hold yourself in a way that showcased it. For those special few for whom dancing came naturally, it was burned into the muscles, written in the blood, knitted throughout the sinews.

Here then, was a kindred spirit.

"You dance?" she asked, and wanted to smack herself for the obviousness of it.

He nodded his head. "A little." He was playing with her, a languid amusement on his face as he looked at her.

"Black*Star didn't drag you here after two ballroom lessons, did he?" But she knew he hadn't.

"Why don't we find out?" Ooh, he was teasing her now, like a cat with a mouse.

Except this mouse had a feeling she knew exactly what the cat was capable of. So Maka stood up, brushed off her leggings, and met his gaze coolly. "Then let's see what you've got."

He joined her in the middle of the studio. Their gazes remained locked as Maka called out, "Black*Star. Hit play, would you? And for the love of God, don't break the stereo."

Soul's mouth quirked, but it fell off his face as the twang of guitars sprang from the speakers. He held his hand up for her to take, placing his other on her waist as she did. He waited a beat, listening to the music, and a few moments later, they began to dance.

He was…well, if she were being truthful, Soul was a brilliant dancer (as brilliant as he could be in a non-choreographed piece with an unfamiliar partner, at least). His feet were sure, his shoulder strong, and Jesus Christ, those hips had to be illegal…

She hated him for it.

Her old partner had been a bit of a pushover, and honestly, Maka had been the one to really lead. She tried to do the same with Soul, but she couldn't lead with him.

He wouldn't let her.

Every time her foot stepped forward, he'd yield only so much that he wouldn't step on her foot. In the next beat, he was pressing forward, using his body to direct her until she had no choice but to follow after him.

And even though this was how ballroom dancing was supposed to go, even though this was exactly why she'd never gotten very far in the competitive circuits, even though some small part of her thrilled at dancing properly, with a proper partner…

She hated him.

Because he knew what she was trying to do, and he was smirking at her as they danced. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he reveled in it.

And yet…the dancing. This was unlike anything Maka had experienced before, and she couldn't bring herself to let go of him. She was caught up in the rhythm, caught up in the music, caught up in the heat of his hand on her waist, grasping her tight as he directed her in spins and twirls.

How could she love and hate dancing with someone so much?

He stopped suddenly, and it was only that she realized the music had stopped. That shark-tooth smirk made a reappearance, and Maka felt her cheeks flush. She stepped back and smoothed her palms over her thighs, if only to give them something to do.

"Well?" He watched her expectantly, eyes still twinkling with that hint of mischief.

"Not bad," she said, trying to sound casual.

He nodded with mock thoughtfulness. "Could say the same for you. 'Cept I wasn't really expecting such a…" -his lips curled as he searched for the word- "…sensual performance from you. With the pigtails and all."

Maka shrieked in indignation, nearly drowning out the cackle of laughter coming from Black*Star. "I—you—ugh!"

"Hey, it was a compliment," he said, grinning widely as he backed away.

"I don't care! I'm never dancing with you!" She balled her fists, nails digging into the palms of her hands.

His eyebrows disappeared behind tufts of white hair. "Really? My bad. Thought I was your last option. But I guess if I'm not…" He tilted his head in a mock little bow and started backing away.

"Wait!" The word exploded from her mouth. She didn't have any other options, something they both knew. As much as she may have disliked him, she couldn't deny his skill, and she really, _really_ needed a partner. Surely she could put up with his personality for the sake of his dance?

"Yes?"

She grit her teeth and forced herself to relax her hands. "One month," she said. "We'll try this out for a month, ok?"

He grinned at her, and there was no teasing in his eyes this time. "Cool."

(He stayed for more than a month.)

_**Posted **__**27 **__**June 2014**_


	7. This Only Happens in Movies

**Prompt by wingsof-flame: Maka receiving the talk. **

* * *

"You're kidding."

"You really think I'd kid about something like this?"

"Huh. No, actually. I just can't—oh man, how did that even go?"

"How did you _think_ it went, Soul?"

He dissolved into laughter, clutching his stomach as he nearly fell off the couch. Maka glared at him, her cheeks flushed pink as her fingers twitched toward the hardback on the coffee table. "Not funny, Soul."

He looked at her in disbelief, little giggles escaping in between words. "Are you—heh—serious? It's fucking hilarious!"

"Not when it's happening to you!" Maka's fists clenched on her thighs.

Soul was past hearing her. "I can't believe your dad tried to give you the sex talk!"

Maka cursed whatever unfortunate circumstances had conspired to bring the topic up. They'd only been watching a movie, dammit! But then the gangly, awkward male protagonist just had to be cornered by his equally gangly and awkward father for a shudder-inducing birds-and-the-bees talk. Soul had scoffed, saying that the script had to be exaggerated, that there was no way the talk could ever sound as horrific and mangled as the characters were making it.

That was when Maka had opened her big fat mouth. "Oh, you've _no_ idea." She'd meant it to be an inaudible mutter, but both characters had clammed up at the same time, leaving Maka's words to echo in the sudden quiet.

Soul had pounced. "What? What do you mean?"

"Nothing," she'd said quickly.

But the gears in Soul's head had already started already churning, seizing upon an answer before Maka could change the subject. "Holy shit," he'd crowed, eyes widening. "Your dad tried to give you the sex talk. He did, didn't he?"

Even if she had tried to deny it, Soul wouldn't believe her. So she'd sighed in a resigned sort of manner and said, "Yeah."

Which led them to the current conversation.

"Stop laughing, Soul," Maka hissed, crossing her arms.

"Can't," he hiccuped. "Still—heheh—trying to picture it."

Maka ground her teeth and didn't say anything. Because really, whatever Soul was imaging was probably eerily close to the truth.

It hadn't been pretty.

The incident in question had occurred a few months after Maka's mother had left to travel the world (or, really, to escape her womanizing husband—even at the age of 12, Maka had been a perceptive girl). Spirit had returned home one day to find Maka curled up on the couch, hands clutching her stomach as she rode out a wave of painful cramps. Her father must have gotten it into his head that Maka was missing out on crucial information with her mother's absence, and had taken it upon himself to try and fill the gap.

Maks shuddered at the memory.

_"Papa? What's going on?"_

_Spirit was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with his hands and looking utterly petrified. For a moment, Maka's heart clenched in fear. What if something awful had happened? What if Mama had gotten into an accident during her travels and Maka never had a chance to see her again? "Papa," she said again, urgently. "Did something happen?"_

_Spirit forced a wide smile on his face. "No, honey, nothing's wrong! Nothing at all! Papa just wanted to have a talk with his darling daughter!"_

_Maka found herself relaxing slightly as she approached the table and took a seat. If something bad had really happened, her father would've been in a much worse state, she reasoned. Whatever he had to say surely couldn't be that bad, then._

_She was wrong._

_"I know it's been hard with your mother gone," Spirit started, shooting Maka an anxious look. She scowled at him and crossed her arms, eyebrows raised in a pointed glare. Spirit chuckled nervously and looked away. "Right. Well, Maka darling, I wanted to make sure that you, well…" He broke off suddenly, his eyes darting around the room._

_"Make sure of what?"_

_Spirit braced himself. "That my darling little girl knows what she needs to! I know that you're still young, sugar-pie, but I don't know if your Mama told you these things and since she's gone I know that it's my job to prepare you for those wicked boys out there." He scowled at this._

_"Papa, Mama already—"_

_But Spirit was too far gone in his lecture to pay Maka any heed. "I know you probably don't want to hear this from me, honeybear, but it's something that has to be said! Now, I've noticed your body has started going through some changes, and I want you to know these are perfectly natural things. You're turning into a woman just like your mother—"_

_"Papa!" Maka could feel her cheeks start to burn. This was the last thing she wanted to be talking about with her idiot of a father._

_"Before too long boys are going to start noticing these changes," -he scowled again- "and I want you to be prepared for those little perverts. You don't want to end up like your mother did," -he realized his mistake instantly and started blustering as he tried to cover it up- "not that we both weren't absolutely thrilled to have you! We both love you very much and wouldn't have had it any other way, but we still want a different future for you, of course. That's why it's so important that you know these things, so you aren't caught off guard when you do start dating, though that won't be for a very, very long time—"_

_"Papa, this isn't—"_

_"Now, I don't know what you've heard from other people, but I think it's best if we start from the very basics. When a man and a woman are in love, and they want to make a baby, they…well, they start with kissing and then after that—"_

_It was beginning to feel surreal, like Maka was trapped in a dream that she couldn't wake up from. A horribly embarrassing, awkward dream that had to end right now._

_"PAPA!" She burst from her chair, hands on the table, cheeks blazing red. "Mama talked to me before she left. I already know!"_

_Spirit stared at her, mouth hanging open in shock. His own face pinked as Maka's words sank in, and his mouth snapped shut. "Oh! Oh, well, then that's good." He smiled weakly at her. "Your Papa loves you very much Maka, and I just wanted to make sure knew everything that you needed to—"_

_"I do, Papa," Maka said sharply, cutting him off for the fourth time._

_"Well, if you ever have any questions—"_

_"I won't."_

_"Ah…okay. Just…make sure to stay away from those perverted little hooligans! I don't want them touching my Maka—not that you won't be attractive enough to touch, of course, but—"_

_Maka left the room before he could continue._

Maka shuddered again as she recalled the conversation that easily landed among the top five most embarrassing of her life. And now Soul was imagining it and laughing himself silly.

"Soul," she growled again. "Shut up. _Now._"

"Still can't," he wheezed. "Aw, man, the look on your face!"

That was it. If Soul wasn't going to let up, she was going to make him. She slammed her palm on the table, upsetting an empty glass.

Soul quieted slowly and looked to his meister. "Uh…Maka…?" An evil little grin had crept onto her face, and suddenly Soul was very, very afraid. "What are you…?"

Maka sucked in a deep breath, and what she yelled next had Soul yelping in fear and scrambling for his life:

"BLAIR! SOUL JUST TOLD ME HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO PLEASE A WOMAN!"

It may have been petty, but as Soul tripped over the coffee table in his attempt to escape, Maka really couldn't find it in herself to care.

_**Posted 29 June 2014**_


	8. Unconventional Tutoring

**Prompt by izzyk279: "Could you help me study?"**

**Rated T because this took a turn for the PG-13**

* * *

She does a little double-take as he says it, eyes widening in shock. "Are you feeling okay?" she asks, pushing herself away from her desk to cross her room. She reaches up and feels at his forehead, only halfway joking.

"Har har," he says dryly, leaning away. "You're hilarious. I'm serious, Maka, I'm having trouble with this assignment."

"So?" she asks, still perplexed. "You've never cared about homework before."

She thinks it might be her imagination, but his cheeks flush ever-so-slightly. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to regain his composure. "Just…c'mere, would ya?"

She nods and follows her weapon-turned-boyfriend, eyes dipping lower as he stretches. The hem of his worn band shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of tanned skin, and a familiar pool of heat curls in her belly. How is it that they have been together for nearly a year now, and yet he can still draw out this kind of response from her?

Her eyes jerk up as he drags out a kitchen chair, gesturing for her to sit. Papers full of his sloppy handwriting are scattered across the tabletop as evidence of his labor, and as Maka quickly scans them over, Soul leans down to peer over her shoulder. His warm breath tickles her neck, and she suppresses a shiver.

"I don't quite see the problem," she says, brow wrinkling as she takes in his work. "You've got most of them right…"

"Not those," he says, and is it her imagination, or is his voice lower? His arm extends as he reaches for a paper near the other end of the table. Maka feels the stubble on his chin as his face bends closer to hers, and suddenly the room is too warm. She wants to curse him for being able to stir this kind of response in her, but she knows she never could.

Finally, he finds the paper he wants and drags it back to rest in front of Maka, but he doesn't move away. His arm now rests fully against hers, elbow to wrist, and he doesn't seem too fussed to move it. Instead, his thumb begins to trace lazy patterns on the back of her hand where it sits on the paper.

Paper. Right. And Maka tries, she really does. She sees the words on the page, knows they must be English, but then Soul turns his head to press a gentle kiss to her cheek and sends sparks skittering under her skin.

"Soul?" she asks, breathless. "What are you doing?"

"Studying," he answers, a wicked smile in his voice. He knows exactly what he's doing, and that's enough to snap Maka halfway out of her trance.

"No, you're not," she says tetchily. "At least, not right now. And everything looks fine, so I don't see why you need—"

He shifts, capturing her lips with his to send all her irritation flying out the window. It's a short kiss, and when he pulls back, he smirks at the look on her face. "Didn't say I was studying _that_," he says, referencing the material on the table.

Her confusion must be written on her face, because he fixes her with a heated look and roves his eyes up and down her body in a slow, piercing once-over.

Oh. _Oh._

His nose brushes against hers as their foreheads touch. "Mmmhmm," he hums. "I think I'm a little fuzzy on the subject," he adds slyly. "Could use some one-on-one tutoring."

Maka wants to laugh at his attempts to seduce her with studying, but damn it, _it's working_. The heat in her belly has her face flushing red and her feet twisting underneath the table. "I don't know," she says, scrambling to keep any semblance of composure. "You've still got a lot of work to do here…"

"It can wait," he growls. His head dips down so his nose is skimming her jaw. Soft kisses line her jugular. "Sides, I thought studying was one of your favorite things?" He speaks between kisses, voice rumbling low across her neck and raising goosebumps. The arm on the table draws back, leaving cold air in its wake, but it's soon replaced around her waist. Fingers press against the material of her shirt, drawing it up inch by inch. Her body feels like a live wire, and why is she drawing this out again?

"Well," she says, giving in as she arches her neck back. "You know I never say no to a little extra studying."

He pulls back, a burning look on his face. In less time than it takes to blink, he scoops her out of the chair and is carrying her across the room, lips attached to her neck.

For the first time in quite a while, Maka's books go untouched for the rest of the day.

_**Posted 3 July 2014**_


	9. I'm Not Dead Yet

**Prompt by wingsof-flame: Titans**

**No way in hell this wasn't gonna be an SNK AU**

* * *

"…Soul?" She chokes on the word, barely able to say it in her shock and confusion. This can't be him, it can't—

—because he's dead. And she knows that because she watched it happen.

"Maka! Get the fuck outta there!"

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder!"

"What are you even doing here? Just go!"

"Like hell. There's no way I'm leaving you."

"Dammit, Soul! GO!"

"NO!"

"Soul, what—"

"Grab my hand!"

"No, don't—shit, Soul, behind you—!"

And then he disappears into the meaty fist of an abnormally skinny Titan. All she sees next is a flash of white as the Titan cranes its neck up and drops her partner down its throat.

He's gone.

She doesn't remember much of what happened next. She thinks Black*Star was the one to find her, or maybe Kid. The shock had tried to dig its claws into her back, but had been roughly shaken off throughout the afternoon—the risk of extermination tended to do that.

But one thing that had kept replaying through her mind was the last image she had of Soul; the look on his face as he pulled her to safety at the cost of his own life. Idiot, she'd never asked that of him. But he'd never hidden the fact that she had his loyalty, and his life. He'd spent it for her, and she will never rid herself of the guilt that burns low in her gut.

But then, if he had sacrificed himself for her…why is she seeing him now?

"SOUL!" It's a scream now, ripped from deep in her throat. She springs forward, intent on reaching him as quickly as she can. She needs to touch him, needs to know that he's real, that this isn't some cruel dream her subconscious is inflicting on herself.

A hand grabs for her, but Maka easily twists away. She knows the risks of running out into the street, but she doesn't care. This is Soul, and she'll be damned if she'll be kept from him.

He's knee-deep in Titan flesh, sinews and muscle fibers winding around his legs and arms to keep him anchored in the neck of a 13-meter class. She doesn't know how, doesn't know why, but that's the last thing on her mind now.

"Soul," she says for the third time, and this one holds all the tenderness she has never quite been able to show him. It cracks, it bleeds, it leaks everything she thinks and feels for her partner, and she is so grateful that he can't hear it.

She clambers up the corpse of the Titan they'd been watching in awe all afternoon. It hadn't looked like the others, with its white hair and burning red eyes, and though it shares the same characteristics as Soul, it had never occurred to her that he might be trapped inside. Why would it? The flesh is hot and steaming, but Maka ignores the pain in her scramble to reach him.

Vaguely, she notes that the blood leaking from the Titan's wounds is a sticky, viscous black color. So is the flesh that knits Soul to the body he's emerged from, a fact that Maka knows Stein will take great interest in. Of all the Titan kills that have been logged, not one has ever bled black blood. (Of course, not one has ever split open to reveal a dead cadet either, so there's another first. Stein will be thrilled.)

Soul's head is drooped forward, as though he's too tired to hold it up himself. Maka falls to her knees in front of him, one shaking hand reaching out to touch his cheek. She nearly sobs when her fingertips brush his skin, and there is her proof that he is real.

The dam breaks, and she lunges forward to wrap him in a rib-crushing hug. She doesn't know if it's blood trickling down her cheeks, or tears.

"Maka," he groans in one long rattle, as though his lungs are trying to remember how to work.

"I'm here," she whispers fiercely.

"Demon," he croaks. "Demon…in m'head. So much—blood." His body convulses in one long, massive shudder, and she clings to him tighter.

"It's okay," she says, and it finally sinks in that it is. Oh, sure, there's a massive shitstorm headed their way, but his heart is pulsing regularly underneath his skin, and that's all she needs.

They'll figure it out, eventually. Together.

_**Posted 4 July 2014**_


	10. Hot Piano Guy

**Prompt by anonymous, from a dialogue prompt meme: "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?"**

* * *

To be fair, it hadn't been one of Maka's best days. She was tired and she was stressed, both of which added up to a Maka who wasn't all that careful with what she said.

"Sorry, Liz, I can't make it tonight." She pressed the phone against her ear as she tried to juggle an armful of books. Pile successfully balanced, she slung the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder and made her way to the stairs.

"What? Why not?" Liz demanded, her voice tinny through the phone's speakers.

"I already told you yesterday, I've got study group."

"No, I distinctly remember you saying, 'Sure, Liz, of course I can come over. It'll be great because we haven't seen each other in ages since I'm an uptight nerd who studies all the time.'"

"I don't think I said that," Maka said, grunting as she shouldered open the stairway door. The librarian at the reference desk gave her phone the evil eye, but since it wasn't a quiet floor, she couldn't take it away. Maka could practically feel her cell-phone hating gaze on the back of her neck as she slowly wound her way between tables, searching for her study partner.

"It was something along those lines."

"Well, whatever I said, I still can't come tonight."

"Yeah, but for study group? Since when do you need extra studying?"

"Since I signed up for a music class I'm obviously going to fail."

"Wait…this is for the music class? Oh, don't tell me, you're studying with Hot Piano Guy?"

Maka snorted, then squeaked as the pile of books in her hand wobbled dangerously. "I didn't say that, either."

"Oh, come on. Why else would you blow me off? Admit it, you're studying with Hot Piano Guy." Liz sounded way too smug for her own good.

Maka rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

"Still not hearing a denial."

"Alright, fine, I'm blowing you off to study with Hot Piano Guy, happy?"

"Hot Piano Guy? You wouldn't happen to be talking about me, would you?"

Maka startled violently, upsetting her books and sending them crashing onto the floor. Phone still to her ear, she turned slowly to see Soul Evans (aka Hot Piano Guy) sitting at a table behind her.

"Maka?" Liz asked. "Maka, I heard a crash. Everything okay?"

Maka swallowed hard. "So, Hot Piano Guy may have been sitting right behind me when I said that."

"Ooooh, get it, girl."

Maka hung up immediately, her face bright red. She stared at Soul, who met her gaze with a raised eyebrow and the start of a smirk.

"So I _am_ Hot Piano Guy."

Maka winced. "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?"

Soul shrugged. "If you want. I, for one, think the evening would be a whole lot more interesting if we didn't."

Correction: it hadn't started as one of Maka's best days.

_**Posted 8 July 2014**_


	11. A Well-Intentioned Sticky Note

**Prompt by therewithasmile: Reflection - Sometimes she stared at her reflection for long periods of time, he discovered with annoyance, until one day it pissed him off enough to just leave a note on the mirror frame. When she finally noticed it she gasped and turned red at the text, stuffing it away before anyone else saw.**

* * *

He didn't know how long it'd been going on, but once he noticed it, he couldn't seem to _not_. It was a part of her routine, and now it was a part of his.

Wake up, shower, dress, make breakfast, notice Maka watching her reflection in the full-length mirror in her room, get annoyed at Maka turning and poking and frowning at her reflection in the full-length mirror in her room…

…but he didn't say anything, because God knew he'd already given her enough grief over her appearance. But shit, it got on his nerves. What did she even need to be squeezing and poking for? She looked fine enough to him (okay, maybe more than fine, but that was a whole different issue he wasn't quite sure they were ready for).

He _wanted_ to say something. Anything to wipe that frown off her face. He hated seeing her unhappy, hated it even more when he couldn't do anything about it (not that he was very good at that part). But…maybe there _was_ something he could do.

This would either go very well, or he'd be adding another concussion to his plentiful repertoire.

—

She didn't notice it at first. Her hair was being particularly difficult that morning, so all her attention had been focused on trying to tame the nest atop her head. When the orange sticky note did finally catch her attention, she peered at it in confusion. When had that gotten there…?

The handwriting told her it was her partner, and that he must have left it while she was in the shower. But that didn't really matter once she read the contents.

_Stop spending so much time here. There's nothing to frown at._

Maka's cheeks flamed such a bright red she thought she might explode. She plucked the note off the frame and practically threw it across the room. Second thoughts had her diving after it, because if Blair ever got her hands on it…

Finally, she just stuffed it in her nightstand drawer, because as much as it embarrassed her, she couldn't just throw it out. Even if he hadn't meant it, it was still kind of sweet.

But honest or no, she couldn't meet his gaze when she finally left her room. Piercing red eyes kept trying to catch green ones, but Maka was a stubborn thing. Breakfast was a quiet and supremely awkward affair, though most of it was probably Maka's fault. If she'd just acknowledge what he'd done—but that came dangerously close to territory she was too scared to tread. So she skirted around the subject, much to Soul's annoyance.

But no one ever said that Soul wasn't also a stubborn thing…

—

There was a new one the next day, and if the first one made her blush, it was nothing compare to what this one said:

_I don't really think your tits are tiny._

What the hell was she supposed to say to that one?! (Needless to say, Soul did get a chop for that note.)

But he didn't stop. Maka didn't say anything, and Soul didn't stop leaving tiny, one-line notes on the frame of her mirror.

And if Maka spent less and less time in front of the mirror each morning, well…mission accomplished.

_**Posted 13 July 2014**_


	12. Campfire Song

**Prompt by wingsof-flame: Campfire or campfire song**

* * *

She hated his guitar. Really hated it. As in, she would throw it in the fire and happily watch it burn if she knew she could get away with it. But Soul knew of her vitriol and wouldn't hesitate to point fingers should anything befall his instrument (hadn't hesitated before, back when it would sometimes vanish mysteriously).

It wasn't that she hated guitar music in general, or even that she hated hearing him play. Soul was actually a decent musician when he put his mind to it, though the piano was where he truly excelled. No, Maka's hate stemmed from the songs Soul chose to play.

Alright, so it probably didn't help that they were both in charge of a dozen hyperactive kids, not one over the age of twelve. Their requests were limited to songs played on cartoons and on the local kid's radio station, so yeah, Maka knew not to expect much good music from the evening campfires.

But goddammit, Soul didn't have to _encourage_ them.

"I call this one, the campfire song song," Soul said, sending Maka a cheeky wink as he began to strum all-too-familiar chords. His words were almost drowned out by the excited shrieking of the campers around him, as though they hadn't been singing this song every night since camp started. Maka glared, but Soul only gave her a shit-eating grin before launching into the song with gusto.

"Let's gather 'round the campfire, and sing our campfire song.

Our C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E S-O-N-G song.

And if you don't think that we can sing it faster then you're wrong.

But it'll help if you just sing along…

BUM BUM BUM…"

Soul sang the last part in a ridiculous bass, drawing giggles from the girls in Maka's cabin. Maka herself only narrowed her eyes at her fellow counselor, but he either didn't notice or didn't care (Maka was leaning towards the latter).

With a dramatic strum of his guitar, Soul started the song over, this time a little faster. With every new verse, the song sped up and through it all, Soul's words remained perfectly clear. He was surprisingly adept at singing at top speed.

The kids, however, were not. Near the end of the third verse and all throughout the fourth, a cacophony of giggling, hollering campers echoed in the clearing. Maka would be lucky if she didn't go to bed with a headache.

When the kids had been reduced to incoherent babbling, Soul finished with a twangy flourish, prompting a round of applause from those gathered. Maka merely harrumphed and crossed her arms.

Later, after all campers had (finally) bedded down for the night, she met him back at the clearing, where the embers of the campfire had long since died out. She let him wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close, but didn't respond.

"Maka, don't be like that."

"I hate that song."

"The kids like it. And besides, you of all people really shouldn't be talking about what's good music."

She ignored him. "And I hate that stupid guitar."

He pouted. "I thought you liked to hear me play?"

"I do. Just not that." She shuddered.

"Okay, yeah, the song sucks, but the kids like it. That's what matters, right?"

She looked at him then, and even in the darkness of the clearing, she could still make out the softness of his mouth and the fondness in his eyes. Despite his unconventional looks, Soul was weirdly good with kids, something that should have surprised her, yet didn't.

However much she hated that song, and that stupid guitar, she couldn't be irritated at him when he had that look on his face. So she stretched up languidly, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

When his guitar went missing right before campfire that next day, Maka swore up and down she didn't know anything about it.

(It was hidden under her cot.)

_**Posted 14 July 2014**_


	13. Eight Ways

**Birthday fic for therewithasmile. A drabble series in eight parts, not connected. Based on "8 Ways to Say I Love You" by R. McKinley.**

_**Edit: (Sorry for the confusion, uploaded the wrong thing at first)**_

* * *

I

He's had way too much to drink, but he's at that point where he doesn't really care anymore. It's not often that he lets himself get this far, and maybe that's partially Black*Star's fault. He doesn't care about that either. The only thing he does care about is the phone in his hand and the buttons which are much harder to press than usual. How does he get to his contact list again? Oh yeah, she's on his speed dial.

…Which one is she again? One, that's right, because really, she's the only person in his life who would be at the top of his speed dial. He doesn't know how he could forget that.

He does manage to hit the 1 key, wincing as the phone rings shrilly in his ear. And rings, and rings, and finally she picks up with a cheery, "Hey!" but wait, that's not her but her voicemail. Well, it is two in the morning, so he's not really surprised that she doesn't answer.

His tongue feels heavy and thick in his mouth, like it's swelled two sizes. And there are cottonballs stuffed in his cheeks and what did he want to tell her again? Oh, of course:

"Maka? 'S' Soul," he slurs. "Wanted ta tell you somethin'. Somethin' real 'mportant. I—uh…"

And suddenly this doesn't seem as easy as he'd thought it to be five minutes ago. Swallowing hard, still tasting that last shot of whiskey, he says, "I love you."

It's rushed and a little slurred, but the words are unmistakable. He hangs up, and it doesn't hit him until hours later what a terrible idea it'd been.

He cringes when he looks at her the next morning, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to.

The tiny little smile she gives him says it all.

* * *

II

Kissing Maka Albarn, Soul decides, is pretty much the best thing ever. And his imagination had really done her a disservice.

He'd pictured running his hands through her hair, but he hadn't known how soft it would feel sliding across his fingers.

He'd fantasized about those pale, mile-long legs straddling his hips, but had he considered those very same legs wrapped around his waist?

He'd dreamed of those thin pink lips touching his, but there is also a hot, wet tongue behind them, and Maka slowly but surely learns how to use it against him.

How is it, he wonders, that he can kiss her for weeks, for months, and yet never grow tired of wrapping his arms around her middle and drawing her close?

She bends down to kiss him again, and her hand sneaks up the back of his shirt. Dull nails lazily scratch his back, and he shudders.

"I love you."

It's a breath from his lips quickly swallowed by hers, and neither of them is really sure whether it was actually ever said.

* * *

III

This is fucking stupid. Really, really fucking stupid. So why had he done it, again?

He's uncomfortable here. She's uncomfortable, clearly. Neither of them are suited for fancy restaurants and food that's too pretty to eat. But isn't this what you do, when you reach this stage? Isn't this expected?

Maka doesn't seem like that kind of girl, probably isn't that kind of girl, but Soul had panicked, and a panicked Soul isn't usually a very rational one. And by the time he'd made reservations, it was too late to cancel them. So they'd gotten dressed up, arrived at the restaurant…

…and were currently in the middle of the most awkward evening of Soul's life.

He sighs and looks at Maka. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"This." He gestures around the room.

"No, Soul, it's…nice."

But he doesn't miss her hesitation. "You hate it."

"No, I don't—"

"S'okay. I hate it here too."

"Then why did you suggest it?"

He flushes a faint pink. "Thought that was what I was s'posed to do. You know, when…" He can't say it.

"When what?" She leans a little closer, as if anything and everything he could say is the most interesting thing to her. Green eyes shine with that curious look, and now it's the easiest thing in the world to say.

"I love you."

They spend the rest of the night on the couch eating take-out pizza and watching old horror movies.

* * *

IV

Soul's bed had never been more comfortable than it was now. Okay, so maybe it was a little on the small side and maybe he was jammed up against the wall, but he had a sleeping meister in his arms and that was really all that mattered to him.

He couldn't see her very well, because it was three in the morning and the curtains were blocking out the moonlight, but he didn't need to see her. He could feel well enough; her chest expanding evenly as she breathed, her hair tickling his cheek, her cold toes pressed against his knees.

How had he ever slept without her in his arms?

He leaned forward, breath ghosting across her neck, and whispered, "I love you."

She shifted in her sleep, and Soul immediately slammed his eyes shut and forced his breathing to even out. He felt her turn in his arms until she was facing him, but he didn't risk checking if she was awake. Eventually, he didn't have to force his breathing as he fell asleep.

They woke up with foreheads touching.

* * *

V

He doesn't know how it starts, but now they're dancing in the kitchen, slipping on the flour he'd spilled, and the pancakes she'd been trying to make are forgotten. One of Soul's old jazz records is playing on the turntable he'd found in a pawnshop last week, and even though Maka doesn't understand music, she is trying her hardest to dance, and it's pretty much the funniest thing Soul's ever seen.

But he's dancing too, and her smile is too brilliant to even consider being embarrassed. He's trying to lead her, but she won't follow because she is stubborn, and for now he doesn't care. They are tripping and sliding and banging into counters, they're making a mess, but that isn't important.

He watches her as she twirls, her pigtails whipping out to slap him in the face. She giggles. There is a smudge of flour on her cheek.

"I love you."

The words come from nowhere, and he is as surprised as her. But he's also quicker to react, because he knows he can't just leave those words unaccompanied. So he tacks on, "when you try and dance." It's not a perfect patch, and there are probably other things he could have said, better things, but it's done.

She sneaks glances at him for the rest of the day, and he tries not to notice.

* * *

VI

Words are her thing, not his. She is well-versed in language, in the art of stringing together letters and sentences into something bigger than itself. She can debate with the best of them, arguing until you wonder why you were ever against her in the first place. Words are her thing.

They definitely aren't his, if the letter on the kitchen table is anything to show for it. He's never written anything so purple-ly in his life, and he _hates_ it.

He crumples up the letter and starts over (he thinks it must be his seventh attempt or so). It's more stream-of-consciousness prose than anything like a letter, but hey, at least it's honest.

But how's he supposed to get it to her? He can't just hand it to her like a second grader giving his crush a love letter (even though this is kind of exactly like that), but he can't just leave it around for her to find. Slip it in a coat pocket, maybe? In her bag?

He grows frustrated and annoyed with every passing second. This isn't how it's supposed to be like, is it? He doesn't want it to be.

He ends up leaving it in the trash with the others, her name scrawled on the envelope in his distinctive chicken scratch. He puts the matter behind him and tries to think of another way to tell her.

He almost has a heart attack the next day when the letter disappears from the trash can.

* * *

VII

_Oh God no please no this isn't fucking happening this can't be fucking happening he's gonna slaughter every goddamn cab driver in this goddamn city but first he has to see her has to make sure she's okay because oh god this isn't real this can't be _real

His thoughts are a jumbled mess of words and emotions all blended together, flying past at the speed of light. Not even in the midst of battle has he been this panicked, because there at least, he has her. She knows what she's doing, and she's good at it. He is in capable hands, he knows, and Maka Alarn does not make mistakes.

Not like drunk cab drivers do.

His hands shake as he enters the room. A shiver crawls up his spine as he takes her in, lying on a hospital bed and looking entirely too still and pale. Bandages wrap her middle like they had his so long ago. Bile rises up in his throat.

He must make some sort of noise because she stirs, blinking sleepily at him. Soul's knees nearly give out, and he quickly sets himself down on the chair by her side.

"Soul." Her voice sounds dry and cracked. "Hi."

"I love you." Because why wait another day to say it when she could get hit by a cab crossing the fucking street? They battle monsters and the stuff of nightmares, but this right here, this slap in the face has terrified him more than kishins ever have. It has occurred to him several times that she might be cut down in the middle of a fight. It has never occurred to him that she might just as easily die from living day to day.

And that is fucking terrifying, so yes. He says it. He says it again and again, and maybe he's overwhelming her, but he can't seem to stop.

He doesn't want to.

* * *

VIII

They're sitting at the breakfast table, both nursing cups of coffee and trying to hold off the day just a little longer. He lives for these moments, the ones that seem removed from the rest. The ones where it's just them, and the world around seems to forget them and pass by. He knows she loves them too.

His coffee is bitter, but it does the trick, and he can feel the sleep recede from his gritty eyes and fuzzy head. Maka slurps hers, coffee that is probably more akin to cream than actual coffee. She smacks her lips and grins at him, and though he's never said it before, he says it now, and it's as natural as breathing.

There are no extra words tacked on, no fluffy phrases or dramatic overtures. There is just one simple fact, one he thinks they have both known for a very long time.

"I love you."

The corners of her eyes crinkle, her lips soften, and her head tilts slightly as she looks at him. She regards him in a way she doesn't anyone else, and he knows what she'll say before she even opens her mouth.

"I love you too."

_**Posted 15 July 2014**_


End file.
